In the Long Run

Barack Obama’s surge in popularity has given rise to some interesting internet articles and websites, two of which I found quite entertaining this week. Check out this article containing an Encyclopedia Baracktannica, with some witty, and some inane, definitions using Obama’s name, or corrupted versions of the same. Then there is the website, barackobamaisyournewbicycle.com, which I find hilariously clever in its understated simplicity.

I began wistfully thinking of my former visions of internet popularity, with mobs of adoring, sycophantic fans clamoring incessantly for my intelligent, pointed, and entertaining posts. I decided I need some Barackstar-type hype.

So meet my new persona: The Cyppster. My female devotees will be called the Cyppster Sisters, and the males will be members of Cyppy’s Posse. Those who prefer a non-gender-identifying term can be called “dis-cypples”.

They will eagerly await posts detailing the mediocri-cyppy of my life, which of course include no gos-cyppy, or heaven forbid, hypocri-cyppy, just straight talk detailing cyppy-isms with accura-cyppy. The Cyppster will be known far and wide for her gracious diploma-cyppy, her love of democra-cyppy, and her unflinching advoca-cyppy of pickleball.

In order to hasten my popularity in this in-cyppy-ent stage, I have prepared the following statements, which fall under the heading:

Cyppy is Your New I-Pod

Cyppy let you beat her at pickleball.

Cyppy did not complain when your annoying dogs barked all night long.

Cyppy loaned you her boa.

Cyppy changed her doorbell chime just for you.

Cyppy smiled indulgently at you even when you made numerous grammatical errors.

Cyppy put away your bike for you after spinning class.

Cyppy knew without asking the sex of your cute, but bald baby.

Cyppy let you play Halo in her basement for eight hours straight.

Cyppy dressed up in a costume for your fund-raising event.

Cyppy came to your home party.

Cyppy went on a chocolate fast with you.

Cyppy bought you a fashionable briefcase online.

Cyppy remembered your name.

Cyppy treated you to an afternoon of ice skating.

Cyppy ran a mile with you.

If all goes well, I may be running for president in 2012. Perhaps I’d do quite well in Mississippi.

Posted by Cyppy at 3:34 PM